Tell Me I'm Pretty
by thefanshipdarkhorse
Summary: In which Veronica has had enough (alternately: Veronica spends entirely too much time obsessing over Trixie's looks). Trixie/Veronica, very brief, MINOR mention of Remy/Timmy.


So this is my first attempt EVER at writing for this fandom, though I do have some headcanons for the cartoon. I'd be more nervous but hey, I'm pretty sure barely anyone even reads the fanfiction for this fandom. But if you do happen to read this, I hope you like it- I did put a good deal of effort into it, even though it's nothing special.

Please do review though, it's like a hug for my heart. And my heart needs hugs D:

* * *

 **Tell Me I'm Pretty**

 **In which Veronica has had enough (alternately: Veronica spends entirely too much time obsessing over Trixie's looks).**

* * *

Truth be told, Veronica doesn't hate Trixie.

Resents her, sure—but doesn't every girl? And Veronica has more reason than most, because in spite of everything, in spite of all the ways she's tried to break away without losing her status (before realizing that she couldn't, because Trixie _was_ the status at Dimmsdale High), they've been together all their lives.

They were _always_ being compared and Veronica _always_ ended up on the wrong end of the comparisons, because let's be honest, who wouldn't pale in comparison to Trixie Tang? But being eternally beside her, eternally the sidekick, Veronica bore the brunt of it—if Trixie was pretty, what did that make _Veronica_? If Trixie was smart, _Veronica_ must be an absolute bimbo. There's no middle ground, not that Veronica could ever hold it against any of them—it was high school (after it had been elementary school, and junior high), and it was black-and-white, and she knows that better than anyone.

Veronica doesn't hate Trixie, but it sure feels good to have someone to blame. The truth is, it isn't even Trixie's fault—without Trixie, Veronica might have been the Queen Bee. She's certainly bitchy enough, but as soon as anyone bothered to probe the surface they'd find that she isn't meant to be a leader. Veronica is unsteady, unsure of her own two feet. She's forever changing her mind, forever, however reluctantly, looking to Trixie for her next move. Sure, she'd been the captain of Dimmsdale High's cheer squad, but what did she really need to do there, anyway? Nobody cared how good they were as long as they were hot, and hey, the girls starved _themselves_ , so what did Veronica really need to do there?

Trixie wasn't a cheerleader. She wasn't the type. Trixie didn't have the physical aptitude, the body, to be a cheerleader, and at first Veronica had reveled in that one thing she had over the girl. But then she'd realized that even then, Trixie had won. Trixie might not have been stick-thin, but, as Veronica was discovering, boys didn't want stick thin. Boys didn't want _fat_ , but they certainly appreciated softness and curves, something the slender Trixie had in spades (of course, of course). It wasn't as though Veronica _tried_ to be skinny like the other girls; it was more that she just couldn't put on weight, and was just cursed to be scrawny and awkward for the rest of her life. And that was just fine in high school, where everybody was stupid and believed the labels there would last forever, but in all honesty, who would ever fall in love with shallow, rail-thin Veronica?

Who would ever call _her_ pretty, even without Trixie standing just over there?

(Incidentally, Trixie, who is actually _not_ a complete bitch, much to Veronica's unending ire—just naïve and a little spoiled—was the only person who _doesn't_ agree with Veronica's increasingly colorful metaphors for herself. "You're svelte," she'll always say. "You have a beautiful figure." The _one_ thing Veronica always appreciated about her is that Trixie never goes for the whole " _I wish I looked like that_ " bullshit, because if there's anything Veronica hates more than always being compared to Trixie, it's being blatantly lied to in order to spare her feelings, and who _doesn't_ want to look like Trixie Tang?)

It wasn't as if Veronica had spent _all_ of her days engulfed in bitterness—after all, being Trixie's lackey had its advantages. Veronica never got any of the sleazy pick-up lines—Trixie was always fielding those long before they came her way, which was a good thing, because Veronica wasn't entirely certain she could do the whole 'smile, hair-toss, and move on' thing Trixie always did. And Veronica never had to want for a place to sit, or a partner in gym class; being by Trixie's side meant full access to _the_ cafeteria table, and being her humble best friend gave her full rights to the girl for any and all paired assignments from gym to chemistry. She never even had to worry about being shunted for a boy, because they never lasted more than a month (although, if she was being entirely honest, the reason for her not having to worry had less to do with the duration of the relationships and more to do with Trixie being a surprisingly good friend).

In all honesty, Veronica didn't have such a bad deal. So what if she never fell in love? That just meant she'd never get used and tossed aside like a bag of dog shit, though God knew Trixie never would.

And there it was, the kicker, the big 'but'.

All this was true, _but_ Veronica was still always second to Trixie, and even though it did her more good than harm, maybe she'd like to experience being first, just once. So she had a cushy high school life, _but_ Trixie always had it better. Yes, there were boys that wanted to bang Veronica, _but_ Trixie had boys who came up to her for absolutely nothing more than to tell her she was pretty.

Just once, Veronica thinks, just _once_ , she'd like to be pretty.

Just once, she'd like to be the one turning down some pervert at the mall.

Just once, Veronica would like to be elected homecoming queen, not just nominated and relegated to Trixie's court.

Just _once,_ and it would all be okay.

Just _once_ , and Trixie could win the heart of the world for all she cared.

Just once, Veronica wants to be first in _somebody's_ eyes.

* * *

It's senior year of university before it happens, but it finally does.

And despite all her fantasizing and dreaming, Veronica has no idea it's coming until it hits her smack in the face.

Well, lips.

Technically.

* * *

"V…"

"I know, I know, you never liked him," Veronica snaps. She laughs, humorlessly, and then her eyes harden as she shakes her head, disbelief etched deep into her features. "You don't even _want_ him."

(And that makes it worse.)

For some insane, asinine reason unbeknownst to her, she's _still_ glued to Trixie's hip, even now that her status doesn't depend on her. It's funny, how little who they used to be effected who they were once they went off to college. Here, there must have been hundreds of Trixies on campus—hundreds of once Queen Bees who are now perfectly content to be relative nobodies outside their circle of friends. Hell, Timmy 'wears pink all the time and has a weird, vitriolic friendship with Remy Buxaplenty and nobody wonders if he's _gay'_ Turner is in their immediate circle of friends, alongside Tootie (who'd given up on her crush ages ago and had since hopped wholeheartedly aboard the S.S. Rimmy along with Trixie back in freshman year).

The biggest difference is in Trixie herself, though—Veronica's known about her closet-nerd tendencies for a while, but Trixie had always tried so damn hard to keep it under wraps from everybody else. Now, it's like she didn't even care—Veronica had actually had to _worry_ about _Tootie_ taking her place for a while there. She's still lovely, of course, and incredibly popular amongst the frat boys, thanks to the influence of Tad and Chad- it's just as if she's gained a new kingdom to rule over on top of the old one.

(Tad and Chad, she remembers with a trace of fondness—they'd been there, too, all those years, and they've become something like brothers to her ((Trixie moreso now that her tomboyish side has emerged openly)). There _had_ been a brief, poorly thought out stint with Chad that one night in the gym but…some friendships are better staying as just that. In the end, the only enjoyment Veronica got from the experience was the thinning of Trixie's perfectly pink lips and the look of fury briefly that marred her face afterwards, though to this day Veronica doesn't know what brought on the reaction to begin with.)

It's the middle of midterm season, a time of year characterized mostly by the few stubborn leaves that had managed to stay attached to their trees finally falling to the ground, and by the ever-present rattling off of flashcards and wonderings about which professors were bribable.

Veronica isn't concerned—her grades have never been lacking.

Neither have Trixie's—in fact, Trixie regularly surpasses Veronica in any and every assignment, quiz, test, and just graded academia in general (Veronica's better in art, because _that_ matters to anyone).

Whatever the circumstances, they had led to the present situation—Veronica, sullen and cross-legged on her bed and Trixie sat at the desk, looking sorry (which really only further annoys Veronica—it was infinitely easier to be angry with someone who is actively argumentative than with someone who looks so much like a scolded puppy (and so, _so_ pretty)).

Trixie had, once again, managed to steal another one of Veronica's 'boyfriends'—or, rather, a nameless, faceless boy she'd slept with once because she had been feeling particularly inferior (and maybe a little drunk) at that one party.

(It doesn't matter that Trixie hadn't _really_ stolen him—doesn't matter that Veronica doesn't even know his last name. It's the principle of the thing, and Veronica was just… _sick_ of it.

Trixie frowns from her perch on the chair accompanying Veronica's cluttered desk. "That's not why I…" She takes a deep breath, then immediately releases it again in the form of a long-suffering sigh that makes Veronica want to strangle herself with her own hair. "I'm not _happy_ about this, V."

"And why not, _T_?" Veronica replies, cattily, emphasizing Trixie's nickname. "Did it get boring being the best at everything all the time?"

"God, Veronica, why do you always have to _be_ like this? Why do you always have to be so…" Trixie lets out a frustrated noise, somewhere between a scream and a growl, running slender, ringed fingers through onyx locks in irritation (she's going to mess up her hair, and won't that be a shame?). "Why do you always have to be so _jealous_?"

" _Excuse_ me?" Veronica replies, flushing crimson with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. She turns to completely face Trixie, who's stood up by this point and is leaning against the side of her bed, arms folded like she's ready for a fight.

Well, if it's a fight the Queen wants...

"Why do _I_ always have to be like this? When was the last time _I_ bitched about someone you dated? When was the last time _I_ told you what to do? When was the last time _I_ was the one somebody wanted? When was the last-fucking-time _I_ was _anyone's_ first choice?!" Veronica is panting now, her throat raw and her face, she's sure, an ugly, blotchy red.

After all this time—after more than two decades of holding it in, it all crumbles around her (around them _both_ ) in less than a minute.

"And you _stand_ _there_ ," Veronica grinds out, her voice much quieter now but more dangerous than ever, "and ask me why I'm always so _jealous_?" Her hands clench into fists—a wet sensation beneath her fingertips tells her that her nails had broken skin. "As if anyone could be anything else with _Trixie Tang_ standing next to them."

A pregnant silence fills the otherwise spacious room.

For her part, Trixie looks like someone's just slapped her across her (pretty) face.

"V…why didn't you say—"

"What _could_ I say, Trixie? Stop being so popular? Stop being _you_?" Veronica's voice is just barely more than a mumble now. "Stop being so goddamn _pretty_ so maybe _somebody_ will look at _me_?"

"You are pretty, V," Trixie replies quietly, in a tone completely unlike herself. Something inside Veronica twisted violently when she realized that Trixie—unflappable, unbreakable Trixie Tang—looked close to tears.

 _Disgust. It's disgust, that's all. How_ dare _she look like that when you're the one who wants to fall apart? How d_ are _she look at you like that, like her heart is breaking?_

Veronica scoffs, the bitter voice that's forever whispering in the back of her mind manifesting in her next words. "Don't patronize me, Trixie—that's the one thing I always admired about you. At least you never lied. Don't ruin it now."

She watches as Trixie's jaw clenches, sapphire (and _God_ , they really a _re_ ) eyes narrowing to slits.

"I'm not _lying_."

But to be perfectly honest, Veronica is _so far_ past the point of giving a shit. She has just _had it_.

"You know, I am so _sick_ of—"

"Oh, really?" Trixie snaps back with a vengeance, posture rigid as she whirled on Veronica, eyes flashing.

And there it is, there's that _something_ Veronica was always lacking, the reason she was never the leader. She gulps despite her ire, suddenly feeling sick—she'd never been on the stinging end of the Queen Bee before.

"You know what I'm sick of, Veronica? I'm sick of you constantly putting yourself down, comparing yourself to me when we are _nothing_ alike!" Veronica balks, and Trixie scoffs, cutting her off before the practiced response can spew out. "Don't even go there, you _know_ how I meant it," she chides, and Veronica's jaw shuts so quickly that there's an audible click. "I'm sick of you rolling your eyes every time I tell you you're better than these douchebags you keep dating, and you know what? I'm really pretty fucking tired of you dating them to begin with!"

"Well, I'm sorry _my_ dating life is such a burden on _you_ ," Veronica snarls, sitting up straighter, forcing herself to look Trixie in her angry blue eyes. "Maybe if you'd find yourself a boyfriend, you'd have less time to worry about _my_ love life. But I forgot, nobody here's _good enough_ for Trixie Tang, _sorry_."

"You are _such_ a brat!" Trixie declares, her voice reaching a nearly hysterical decibel, and once again Veronica is rendered speechless. "You are just…do you have any _idea_ of how you effect other people with all the self-hatred and comparisons? How could _anybody_ think they stand a chance when you're always comparing yourself to everyone who might want a chance with you?"

"I don't compare myself to _everyone_!" Veronica retorts, indignant. "And it's kind of hard not to compare myself to _you_ when we're pretty much fucking _married_ to each other, isn't it? Kind of hard to get so much as a _date_ when you're always standing right there, looking like some kind of fucking supermodel by comparison!"

"It wouldn't be hard at all if you weren't such an idiot!"

Veronica balks. "How is _your_ sex appeal related to _my_ intelligence?"

"No, you're right," Trixie says, rolling her eyes. Veronica glowers. They're nearly nose to nose now, and she can make out every stupid, pretty lash framing those stupid, pretty eyes. "Because if you were half as smart as your _mouth_ , you might accidentally see what's _right in front of your face_."

"Right in front of my—how can I see what's right in my face when _your_ stupid face is blocking it?"

It's little more than a second. Trixie had taken advantage of their proximity and Veronica's ire to catch her off-guard, and she's already pulled away, fingers ghosting warmth over Veronica's cheeks, by the time the blonde can wonder what the hell just _happened_.

"You're pretty, Veronica."

* * *

"You're pretty, Veronica."

She is nothing like Trixie. Absolutely nothing at all.

Trixie Tang is beautiful, confident, sexy, positively _breathtaking_ in a way that petty, bitter, unsure Veronica can and will never be.

But (undoubtedly through some sort of genetic predisposition toward people who were beneath her) Trixie thinks Veronica is _pretty_.

And this time—Veronica isn't sure—but _this time_ , she thinks maybe she can believe it.

* * *

All Veronica's ever wanted is to be somebody's first choice, and maybe, if she was lucky, to fall in love.

It had never occurred to her until now, lying with her head in Trixie's lap as long, manicured fingers run through her hair while Trixie laughs about something or other Timmy had done this week, that maybe the way to go about accomplishing both those things was to be the first choice of the girl who always comes in just one spot ahead of her.

(In hindsight, she supposes she always _had_ been just a tad more focused on Trixie's looks than what might have been deemed normal.)

* * *

 **Whoop, there it is!**

 **So that's it. That's my fanfiction. I hope you liked it- it's been sitting on my computer(s, it's been that long) for a while now, so much so that I completely forgot it until I was searching for an old poem.**

 **Please leave a review! :)**


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